Worst of Circumstances
by Falling to Fly
Summary: Meg was on a mission, and it would take more than a Winchester to keep her from completing it. Hurt/limp!Sam, minor hurt!Dean, protective/worried!Dean and John.
1. Missing

**Hello! This is just a little thing that came to me while I was stuck in the car for eighteen hours, so I decided to take it and run. This serves as a sort of alternate ending for the S1 episode _Scarecrow_, a kind of what Meg had decided not to let Sam go? Possible spoilers for the entire season. **

**Also, a huge thank you to my beta, the lovely TealMoose! Thanks for everything, m'dear!**

**Hope you enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or anything affiliated. **

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><p>Meg was on a mission, and she didn't take it lightly. Despite how clueless Sam was of her true nature, he was a Winchester, and that made him dangerous. When her father had given her this assignment, she had jumped at it. This was her chance to prove herself to him, and she would do whatever she was necessary to make sure she succeeded. Her goal was simple: earn Sam's trust, and then sit back and wait as he led her to John's location. Once the eldest Winchester had been located, they would be dealt with; Dean would be taken care of later, assuming he survived long enough. Without the help of his younger brother, they weren't sure what would happen to him.<p>

It hadn't surprised her when Sam had grown worried at the rising number of times Dean had failed to pick up his phone. From all she'd heard, the brothers worked best as a team, and when they were separated things didn't go nearly as smooth. Dean was probably dead already, or about to get himself killed. But she hadn't counted on Sam getting worried enough to actually think about going _back. _She knew that the two shared a deep bond, but they were also hunters; a few missed calls shouldn't have been anything new, especially when they were working a job. But apparently it was enough for Sam, because he had his backpack slung over his shoulder and he'd just told her goodbye. That wasn't part of the plan; he couldn't just _leave._ And Meg would make sure that he didn't.

"Sam?" she called out, easily masking her annoyance and slipping back into the role of the runaway girl. She smiled inwardly as he turned around, looking impatient, and looked at her expectantly. She looked away, looking suddenly shy and a little nervous. "I know that you really want to get back to your brother, but… I just… Can I tell you something before you go? In private?" She took a few steps forward, closing the gap between them. "Please, it would only take a few minutes." Sam looked reluctant, but when he saw the pleading look in her eyes he let out a small sigh and nodded. "Sure."

Meg gave him a weak smile and led him outside and around the corner of the building. She scanned the area for people, still looking unsure of herself. "Are you alright?" Sam asked, and she couldn't help but smile. His concern was genuine and only served to further reveal how naïve he was. "I just… I don't know, I needed to get this off my chest, and since you're leaving I just thought…" She broke off in a helpless laugh.

"Sure, okay," Sam said, but there was guilt in his words, and Meg had to stop from laughing for real. He actually felt bad that he was leaving her. If only she knew the plans she had for him… "It's just that… Remember how I was telling you how my parents tried to control my life? They had everything planned out for me, and even though I know it must seem like I hate them, I really don't. It's always been annoying, but if you look past that you can see that they're only doing it because they care about me, you know? And I let them down by doing this; running away, I mean. But before I left, my father asked me to do one thing for him while I was on my own."

Sam was watching her and listening to her words carefully, and judging by the sympathy and underlying pain in his eyes she was fairly certain she had hit a nerve. She knew that while Sam and Dean were closer than the average brothers, Sam and John's relationship had been rocky at best. She continued as if she hadn't noticed his change in attitude. "He asked me to do one thing while I was gone, and so far I've done a pretty awful job. I mean, I've tried as hard as I could, you know? I've already let him down so much, and I'm doing what I can not to do it anymore, but I've done nothing but fail and…" She shook her head and laughed again. "I don't know why I'm telling you this. It's not really something you share with strangers, is it?"

Sam smiled and shrugged. "It's okay. I understand where you're coming from. But whatever it is… You'll get it eventually. Don't worry so much, okay?" Meg nodded, looking at him gratefully. "Thanks Sam. That helps a lot, coming from you." Still grinning, he looked down at his watch. "I'd really better get going," he muttered, smile wavering. The two began to walk back towards the front of the building.

"So, what exactly did your dad ask you to do for him?" Sam asked curiously. Meg chuckled. "Oh, you know. There was this guy that he wanted me to keep an eye on. I was supposed to follow him to his pain-in-the-ass father, and his brother, too, if need be. But he didn't quite go along with the plan the way I'd hoped he would. It's a shame, too, because my father is _real _eager to get together with them. There are other ways, though."

Sam nodded absently, then froze. "What did you say?" he demanded, spinning around to look at Meg. Before he could say anything else, though, a fist collided with his jaw and he found himself flying backwards. He hit the ground with painful thud and gasped, trying to blink the black spots out of his eyes, because _damn, _that girl could throw a punch.

He saw Meg walking towards him lazily, a careless smirk on her face. "I'm surprised at you, Sammy. Of all people, I would have thought you'd have been more careful than this. Oh well." Sam felt a foot come into contact with his head- and _damn, _that hurt worse than the punch- and the world tilted dangerously. _Dean…_ It was the first thing that came to his mind, and the last before the world dissolved to black.

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><p>"Son of a <em>bitch,<em>" Dean muttered under his breath as he slammed against the door that trapped them within the cellar. Below him, Emily had slumped against the wall, looking subdued. He felt bad for the girl; she'd gone from the girl from believing that she lived in the nicest town in the whole world to being sacrificed to a pagan god by her own flesh and blood in just a few hours. Dean was surprised that she wasn't still screaming and crying- he'd met plenty of other people before her who would certainly be a lot less calm than she was at the moment- but then, he wouldn't blame her if she didn't have the energy to do that after everything she'd been through.

He rammed the door one last time before settling back, sighing in frustration. It was just wood, for crying out loud. Granted, pushing against something that was directly above you was always more difficult, but still.

What he wouldn't have given to have Sam there with him. Granted, even his gigantor body and too-smart-for-his-own-good brain probably wouldn't have been able to do much if he was trapped like Dean was now, but maybe if he'd been there that professor and the cop wouldn't have gotten the drop on him and he wouldn't be in this situation in the first place.

But there was no one to blame for Sam's absence but himself, and he knew it. It was Dean who had decided not to back Sam up, Dean who left him there standing in the middle of the road, Dean who had walked right into the job like the obedient son he was. Not for the first time, Sam's rebelliousness was going to do the kid some good. Not so much for Dean though. And if he didn't get out of there soon, he wouldn't live to have his brother teach him how to not follow orders so well.

He pulled his hunting knife out of his boot, trying to wiggle the latch. The lock wasn't anything complicated, which Dean thanked God for. In fact, it was just a latch lock, with a bar that could be slid off and on, and a flimsy one at that. It was probably just to keep the door from flying open during storms or to keep animals from getting in and eating the apples, or whatever the hell it was the townspeople were storing in the cellar. Either way, it didn't matter to Dean. But if he could just find a way to slide the bar…

He took the knife and held it at an angle, so that the blade was resting on the bar as much as possible, put pressure on it, and pulled it to the side. He couldn't pull far because the door and the ceiling were fairly close, and the bar only moved a miniscule amount anyway, but that movement was enough for Dean. He flipped the knife around, this time using part of the handle to see if it would get a better grip- it did- and began to pull the knife rapidly. "Come on, come on," he breathed. The bar was moving, slowly but surely, but this needed to happen faster or he and Emily would still be just as dead.

After what seemed like hours, but what could have only been a few minutes, Dean saw a sliver of light that had previously been blocked by the lock. Redoubling his efforts, he continued to work until the latch was no longer visible. He quickly dropped the knife and shoved the door as hard as he could. There was a tiny bit of resistance at first, but as he continued to push the door began to open more, and more, until he was able to flip it completely. It hit the ground with a loud crash and he winced, but the noise caught Emily's attention and her head snapped up. She looked at Dean in wonder for a few seconds before scrambling up the stairs and out of the cellar.

As soon as they were out, Dean looked back into what had just been their prison and shook his head. "I can't believe that worked," he muttered. He looked around him, just to make sure none of the crazy townspeople were around. "What do we do now?" Dean looked at Emily, his mind racing. His lighter was still in his pocket, but the lighter fuel was back in the Impala. He cursed under his breath; there was no way he could burn the whole tree with his little Zippo. "Okay, okay… Emily, where is-"

The two of them jumped as a shot rang out and turned to see the sheriff, Emily's aunt and uncle, and the owner of the little diner standing about 300 yards away, carrying guns. "I'd stop right there if I were you," the sheriff said as the group began to move forward. Dean looked down at Emily and their eyes met for a brief moment before Dean yelled, "Run!" The two broke for the woods, ducking but never slowing as more gunshots sounded from behind them.

They crashed through the brush, gasping for breath and listening for footsteps behind them. Dean suddenly veered to the right, grabbing the girl's hand and dragging her with him. "Do you know if your aunt and uncle kept any extra gasoline in their car?" There was a pause as Emily thought about it before she answered back, "Yeah, I think they do." Dean nodded and put on another burst of speed. His plan was to get to the road, find the car, grab the gasoline and torch the damn tree before evening could fall. Glancing up at the sky, he realized that he was running out of time if he wanted to reach that deadline.

The footsteps behind them had long since disappeared, and Dean could only assume that the townspeople had assumed that since they had run into the forest, they were as good as good. _Not today, _he told himself. He pumped his legs even harder, again cursing the fact that Sam wasn't there, because that boy could _run. _

The two broke the cover of the trees, and Dean looked around frantically. "There," he gasped, running for the three cars that were parked on the side of the road. "Which one is yours?" he yelled at Emily as he stumbled to a halt. The one that belonged to the sheriff was easy enough to rule out, but there were still two others that both looked perfectly normal.

"The blue one!" came a call from behind him, and without wasting another second Dean ran to it, cursing when he discovered it was locked. "It's in the trunk," Emily panted as she came up behind him. Dean nodded. There was no time to pick the lock to the car. He ran to the driver's side and grabbed a nearby fallen branch, swinging it and looking away as the glass shattered. The car alarm began to blare, but he ignored it as he reached in and pushed the button that would unlock the car before running back to the trunk. Inside was a little red container, filled with gasoline. He grabbed it and looked at Emily. "Is there an extra key in the car somewhere?" he demanded. When she nodded, he continued, "Okay, good. I need you to take this car and drive. Do not stop for _anything_ until you've put a good hundred miles between you and this place. You're not safe in your town anymore, okay? You have to get out of here. Go!"

Dean was running back towards the forest before he had even finished speaking, trusting that the girl would listen to him and get herself out of there. Sure enough, seconds later he heard the engine revving and the car speeding off. _There's one problem out of the way. _Now to find the sacred tree and burn it before the scarecrow came to life. He couldn't be sure, but something told him that the tree would be close to the scarecrow, since it was the source of the thing's power. He took off in that direction, moving as fast as he could while carrying the container of fuel.

The sun was already beginning to set, and he knew he didn't have much time. When he finally crashed into the orchard, it was just barely visible; only a few minutes left. He looked around widely, looking for an old, ancient looking tree. _Bingo. _It was just off to the left of the scarecrow, just as he'd suspected, except…

There was no scarecrow. Only an empty wooden cross with ropes hanging limply.

"Damn it!" he mumbled as he sprinted forward. He came to a sudden halt in front of the tree and fumbled to get the cap off the gasoline container, looking around him widely. There was no sign of any other life, but he wasn't about to take any chances. He quickly set about to dousing the tree, shaking the canister frantically. As soon as it was empty he tossed it aside and pulled out his lighter, flicking it frantically. He glanced behind him again to check himself, and just barely threw himself out the way in time as the scarecrow swung his hook.

There was a stinging sensation in his arm and he knew without looking that he'd been cut, but it didn't feel too terrible, and there were other, more pressing matters at hand. He rolled out of the way as the hook descended on him again and rolled to his feet, snatching up the lighter. He scrambled to light it, never taking his eyes off the scarecrow as he backpedaled. As soon as the tiny flame appeared, he held it to the trunk of the old tree, jumping back as it caught fire.

The scarecrow charged at him, but as its source of power was consumed in flames it stopped, letting out a bloodcurdling shriek. Dean watched in morbid fascination as it was consumed by flames and began to disappear, much like spirits did when they were salted and burned. The scarecrow swung its hook in one last desperate attempt. Dean threw his arm up to protect himself and cried out as the blade connected with his arm, tearing a decent sized gash down his forearm. The scarecrow let out one last shriek before it was completely consumed by the flames, and then it was gone.

Dean took a few deep breaths, stealing a glance at the sacred tree. Although it wasn't completely destroyed yet, parts of it were already beginning to turn to ash, and he knew it didn't have much longer before it was gone for good. There was no way it could be saved. He let out of a breath of relief that quickly turned into a moan as he grabbed his arm, holding it against his chest. That was going to need to be taken care of, and soon.

For the first time, Dean realized that he didn't know where the Impala was. He could only assume it was still were he'd parked it at the community college, because so help him if anyone had so much as _touched _his baby, there would be hell to pay. That was guaranteed. And that college wasn't exactly close, and he'd be damned if he had to walk all the way there.

He turned to the way he'd come in. If he took one of the two remaining cars, it wouldn't leave the townspeople stranded, since as far as he knew there were only four of them. That was, assuming that he hadn't left already. As if to answer his question, he heard quiet footsteps coming towards him. He quickly hid behind the nearest tree and watched as Emily's aunt and uncle emerged into the orchard, their eyes widening in horror as they saw the burning tree. "What has he done?" Emily's aunt whispered.

Dean could hear more people coming and he quickly set off towards the road, wanting to make it to the cars before they did. He heard a mortified yell behind him, followed by a heartbroken, "Noooooooo!" Without the tree, the town was going to die, or at least be as bad off as the surrounding counties. He had the feeling that things were about to get very, very difficult for the town.

He couldn't quite bring himself to be sorry.

Dean picked up his pace a little as another flash of pain went up his arm. Now that he wasn't rushing to stop a pagan god from taking human sacrifices from a crazy apple pie loving town, the distance between him and the road didn't seem nearly as long. Within about ten minutes he'd made it to the rode and was hotwiring the diner owner's car. His plan was to get to the Impala, fix up his arm, and the find the nearest payphone so that he could call Sam and…

Or he could just call Sam now, he noted as he realized that his cell was resting on the passenger's seat. They must have put it there after they'd ambushed him at the college. As he pulled off onto the road he flipped it open, smirking when he saw that he had twenty three missed calls and seven voicemails, all from some. _Nerd boy must've been worried._ He hit speed dial and held it in the crook of his neck, wincing as he let his injured arm fall to his side as he kept the other one on the wheel. He frowned when he was sent straight to voicemail.

"Uh, hey Sam, saw that you'd called a few times," he said, letting some of his amusement seep into his tone. "Just thought I'd let you know I was okay. I was a bit, uh… tied up with the job, but everything's taken care of now. Call me back and let me know where you are so that we can meet up, okay? Bye Sammy." He started to reach up with his injured arm, thought better of it, and took his hand off the wheel to end the call.

He let a minute or two pass before trying again. "Hey Sam, pick up your phone and call me back. Now."

"Dude, _pick up the freaking phone._"

"Sam, you can't just call me that many times and then not pick up when I call you back. So stop being a jerk and answer the phone."

When Sam didn't answer after the eleventh call, Dean finally sighed and tossed his phone back onto the seat, grumbling to himself. Knowing his brother, he was probably just pouting and being immature about the fact that Dean hadn't answered any of his calls. In fact, when Dean finally fixed himself up and found Sam- and he would- he wouldn't be surprised if the first thing Sam did was give him his trademark bitch face. He was already grinning just thinking about it.

As soon as he reached the college parking lot and his car- it was still there, thank God- he quickly got out the med kit he had stored in the trunk. He poured some hydrogen peroxide on it, mumbling obscenities under his breath as the wound burned, and carefully bandaged it. He was fairly certain he could make it this time without stitches, which he was glad for since he _really _didn't want to have to go through that.

As he climbed back into the Impala, Dean checked his phone again to see if Sam had called him back; he hadn't. He sighed and scrolled through his contacts, finally landing on 'Dad' and hitting the call button. He knew it was incredibly unlikely that his father would pick up, especially since he'd called them just barely over 24 hours ago and had told them to stop trying to contact him. But maybe Sam had already found him and had just completely forgotten to call. That didn't sound like his baby brother at all, but Dean was going to check every option until Sam finally called him back. He doubted anything was wrong- Sam could take care of himself better than anyone- but he _really _didn't feel comfortable not knowing if his brother was okay or not.

As expected, Dean was met with his father's way too familiar voicemail. _"__This is John Winchester. I can't be reached. If it's an emergency, call my son Dean. 785-555-0179. He can help." _Dean rolled his eyes at that. _Can't do much when I'm the one that needs the help, huh? _He took a deep breath as he heard the tone that signaled for him to leave a message. "Uh, hey Dad, it's Dean. I was just wondering if you'd heard from Sam, he, uh, was on his way to find you, but I haven't heard from him in a few hours. Just wanted to see if you'd seen him yet. Call me back when you get this."

Dean glanced down at the phone before tossing it to the side. He'd stopped worrying when John didn't pick up the phone a _long _time ago. His dad never answered; not when Jessica died, not when the shapeshifter bearing Dean's face had been killed in St. Louis, not even when they'd gone back to their home in Lawrence and thought they'd found the thing that killed Mary. If he couldn't help Dean find his brother, Dean would just do it himself. He pulled the Impala into gear and swung out of the parking lot, pressing his foot as far down on the pedal as he dared.

He didn't intend to slow down until he had Sam back, safe and sound.

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><p>John Winchester turned from paper to paper that lay scattered across the motel room's table, piecing little bits and pieces together. <em>So close, so close, almost there, just a little bit more. <em>It had become his mantra over the years, and in the last few months he'd come to live by it. _So close, so close, almost there, just a little bit more. _

It didn't matter that every time he thought he'd finally reached the end, another complication came up. If nothing else, it only fueled that goal, that need to find the thing that had killed his beloved Mary. He was going to find that son of a bitch and kill him, even if it was the last thing he did. He'd made a promise to Mary a long time ago, and he was determined to make sure he saw it through.

Even if it destroyed him in the end.

His phone rang, and John allowed himself a split second to see who was calling. His eyes flicked back to the papers in front of him when he saw his eldest son's name on the little device. As soon as he was done with this- and hopefully it wouldn't be too much longer- he would listen to Dean's message. He always did, and he always helped the boys out in any way he could, whether they knew it or not. Because no matter how much he wanted to find the thing that killed Mary, his sons were still the most important thing in his world, and he'd be damned if something happened to either of them when he could have done something about it.

John turned his attention back to the task at hand. _So close, so close, almost there, just a little bit more._ The signs were all there; he hadn't seen this many in years, twenty two to be exact. But here they were, popping up all over the country. Not enough to track down the demon, but enough to get him one step closer; close enough to save lives, instead of being too late like he had the last few times. There wouldn't be any more lives lost, not if he could help it. There had already been way too much tragedy.

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

_So close, so close, almost there, just a little bit more._

There had to be something he was missing. John was onto something, he could feel it, but there was something that escaped him. Some kind of pattern, maybe, a rule the demon was following. "Where are you hiding," he muttered to himself. He stared at the papers for a few more minutes before sitting back and rubbing his eyes. He needed a break, and more than that, he needed a good beer.

He'd brought a few bottles and stored them in the motel's mini fridge, and he crossed the room and grabbed one, popping open the top and taking a sip. He sat down on the bed and picked up his phone, going to his voicemail. He just wanted to check and make sure the boys were okay and to make sure Dean hadn't left him some dire message; pagan gods were tough bitches, but John had seen some of the hunts his boys had gone on, so he'd been pretty sure they could handle it. If he was wrong, though…

Dean's voice filled the room. He didn't sound horribly worried or afraid like he had the last time he'd called when he and Sam were in Kansas, John noted with some relief. _"I was just wondering if you'd heard from Sam, he, uh, was on his way to find you, but I haven't heard from him in a few hours. Just wanted to see if you'd seen him yet." _John froze when he heard that. He had to have heard wrong; Dean had _not _just said that Sam had come looking for him, _alone. _There must have been some kind of mistake.

He hit the call back button without thinking and waited for his son to pick up the phone, tapping his hand impatiently on his knee. _Come on, come on…_

As soon as he heard his phone ringing Dean had snatched it up and had it to his ear. "Sam?" he demanded, trying to only let anger seep into his tone. "Dean," his father's voice came over the line, and Dean almost dropped the phone in shock. "Dad?" he gasped in surprise. He heard John sigh. There was a pause on the other end of the line, and then he came back on in his no nonsense voice. "I just got your call. Where's your brother, Dean?" The younger man sighed. "He and I, uh… got into a little disagreement. He wanted to go find you in California, I wanted to do the hunt you sent us the coordinates for… and he left. I talked to him on the phone a few hours ago, said he was at a bus station, but I got wrapped up in the case, and now he won't answer my calls."

He heard John curse on the other end of the line. "Damn it! There was a reason I wanted you boys to stop looking for me!" Dean froze at his father's words. There was fear and frustration in them, but at the same time… was that fear he'd heard? "Dad, I tried to stop him, but he wouldn't take no for an answer. I screwed up, I know, but I'm sure he's fine." More than ever he wished his dad was with him. He wanted to know how he was reacting to all this, and John would know exactly what to do. "Listen, Dean. I'm going to try calling your brother, and if he doesn't answer I'll track his phone. Start driving towards that bus station he said he was at, and if you hear anything I want you to call me before you do anything else. Got it?"

Dean felt his heart sink. He and Sam had been searching for their dad for months, and he'd never once picked up their calls and shown concern like this. And now he was picking up, and actually trying to find _them_? Well, find Sam, but still. The fact that he suddenly cared and that Sam still was responding to his calls was really starting to worry Dean.

"Yeah Dad, I got it. Let me know if you hear from-" But John had already hung up. Dean threw his phone back down onto the seat, huffing in frustration and newfound worry. He eased his foot down on the gas, taking only slight comfort in the roar of the engine as he tore down the highway. He was going to find Sam, and nothing was going to stop him until he did.

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><p>As soon as he'd ended the call with Dean, John was scrolling through his contacts frantically, stopping when he landed on Sam. He was trying to keep a handle on the situation like the hunter he was, but when it came to his boys his defenses were weak. He listened to the dial tone, growing more and more impatient with every passing second. "Damn it, Sam, answer your phone!" he muttered. There was a click as the phone was picked up on the other line, and before his son could get in a word John had started yelling. "Samuel Winchester, what the hell do you think you're doing?" He heard a chuckle on the other end of the line, a female's laugh, and froze. "Hello John."<p>

That definitely wasn't Sam.

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><p><strong>This is looking to be a twoshot, or possibly a threeshot. I just had to throw a little hurt!Dean in there. There will be more Sam action next chapter. :) Hope you enjoyed, and don't be afraid to drop a line telling me what I can improve on or what I did right!<strong>


	2. Rescued?

**Wow you guys! Thank you so much for all the reviews, favorites, and alerts! You guys are the best!**

**Here's some of the limp!Sam that I promised! Or did I promise it? Hm...**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or anything affiliated.**

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><p>Sam did <em>not <em>like the situation he was in.

He'd come to only minutes earlier, tied to a chair. His jaw ached, and he would have bet on the Impala that there was going to be a nasty bruise, if there wasn't one already. His mind was fuzzy, but he was still on edge, his hunter's instincts kicking in the moment he realized that he was in trouble.

It looked like he was in a basement; the cold, damp air and the smell of earth had hit him the second he'd regained consciousness, and he'd been in enough basements to know what they were like. Sam couldn't twist around enough to see how far back the room went, but what was in front of him led him to believe that it was a pretty decent size, and since he was almost directly under a kerosene lantern, the sole source of light in the room, he assumed that he was in the middle. There was a narrow staircase directly in front of him with a door at the top. Other than that, the room was completely void of any other furniture or life.

For now.

Sam struggled against the ropes, pulling as hard as he could, but they refused to budge. At least he wasn't gagged; that would have been a huge pain. But then again, if his captors hadn't bothered to silence him it probably meant that they didn't think he could be heard…

The door at the top of the stairs opened, and his eyes immediately snapped to the three figures entering the room. The first two Sam didn't recognize. They were both men; one was somewhat scrawny with flaming red hair, but he was tall, possibly taller than Sam; the other probably stood a few inches shorter than Dean, with brown hair and bulging muscles. Both wore cold, blank expressions, and Sam was positive he'd never seen them before in his life. The girl behind them, however, was a completely different story. "Meg," he growled.

She stepped in front of the other two, smiling as she came to a stop in front of him. "Sam," she grinned, her voice sickeningly sweet. "I'm so glad to see that you're awake. I was afraid that I might have hit you too hard back at the bus station. That wouldn't quite have worked the way I wanted it to." Sam glared at her. He should have known better than to trust her. His father had taught him better than that! _Damn it, Sam, what have you gotten yourself into this time? _Dean's voice asked in his head. "What do you want with me, Meg?"

She simply laughed in response. "It's not so much what we want with _you,_ Sam, but what we want from your family." Sam's eyes bore into her but he remained silent, waiting for her to continue. "You wouldn't _believe _what a thorn your father has been in our side. You and Dean were no picnic either, but John… let's just say, there are a lot of people out there who are real eager to get their hands on him, my father included. We've been trying to find him for a long time." At this she sighed. "You were supposed to lead us to him in California, but your charming brother got in the way again. No matter though," she smiled, gripping his chin gently in her hand. "We have… _other _ways of getting what we want."

Sam tried to pull himself out of her grip, but she only tightened it in response. "If you think my dad will come for me, you've got another thing coming. I haven't seen the man in months; what makes you think he'll come now?" He smirked at the three of them. "Dean, on the other hand, is a completely different story. When he finds you, you'll be sorry you messed with us."

Meg didn't back down the way he'd hoped she would; if anything, her smile only grew wider. "I think you underestimate your family, Sam," she said. "They'll both come, you'll see. And when they do-" Her eyes suddenly turned black, and Sam's eyes widened. "-we'll be ready for them." She released his face and straightened up. A sudden ringing filled the room, and Sam's head snapped up. He knew that sound; it was his cell. Meg pulled it out of her back pocket and glanced at the screen, smiling as she saw the Caller ID. "Speak of the devil." She met Sam's glare with bright eyes that had finally returned to normal. "And you said he wouldn't be looking for you."

Sam could only stare at her. There was no way; there was no possible, conceivable way that after all this time, after all the times he and Dean had tried calling him, that he was calling Sam, _especially_ when he'd called them less than 24 hours- or maybe it was more now?- telling them to stop contacting him because he couldn't talk to them. Meg was lying, she had to be. It was probably just Dean, and knowing him he'd been calling Sam all day, and wouldn't stop until he picked up. Because there was no way that John Winchester was-

"_Samuel Winchester, what the hell do you think you're doing?"_

Sam froze and stared at Meg in amazement. "Hello John." There was a pause on the other end of the line before John's gruff voice could be heard again. "Who is this?" Sam shook his head, still unable to believe what he was hearing. But he wasn't in so much shock that he didn't realize that he had to do something to warn John and stop Meg from hurting his family. "Dad, don't-"

The red haired man didn't hit him as hard as Meg had at the bus station, but he did punch hard enough to have Sam seeing stars. His head snapped back and he let out a low groan, letting his head fall slowly towards his chest as he fought off the new wave of dizziness. He felt something sticky and uncomfortable being placed over his mouth. _Duct tape, _he realized as the black spots finally cleared away. They were gagging him. He turned and glared at Meg, who shook her head at him. "Come now, Sam, you know better than that. We can't be giving your father any extra help, now can we?"

The room was filled with silence as the two stared each other down; Sam glaring with as much hate as he could muster, Meg smirking with a cockiness that was _really _beginning to get on Sam's nerves. Then John's voice could be heard again, cold and cautious, but with a newfound concern that only Sam and Dean would have been able to pick up on. "Who is this, and what are you doing with my son?" It was posed as a question, but the command was there for all to hear: _Answer the question, or else._

Meg, however, seemed unfazed. "Heya John, I'm Meg. Can I just say that it is an _honor _to have talked now to not only one, but _two _Winchesters?" she said, her voice dripping in sarcasm. "Let me tell you, I can't even remember the last time I had this much fun, and believe me, Johnny, I have had a _lot _of fun in my time."

Another pause. "You only answered one of my questions," John growled. "What are you doing with my son?" He was starting to get angry, and it was obvious to everyone. Sam only hoped that his father could manage to keep his temper in check. John often let his emotions overcome the logical side of him, and Sam had seen him lose control to blind rage before. Usually it was beneficial on a hunt to have someone with that kind of passion and drive, but Sam knew that if his dad pissed off Meg and the other demons, he was screwed.

Fortunately, John seemed to have a handle on his emotions for the time being, and he waited patiently for Meg to answer his question.

She looked down at Sam at smirked. "Looks like you didn't raise your boys as well as you should have, John. Sam and I spent a lot of quality time together, and he was just _so _eager to talk to me. He told me some of the most interesting things about your family, too," she said, chuckling. Her expression suddenly hardened and her voice was all business. "You should really be more careful, John. You've been sticking your nose in places it doesn't belong, and that doesn't settle with my father very well."

"Your father has killed a lot of people," John said. "I'm not sure why yet, but too many people have died, and I'm going to put a stop to this before more people get hurt." Meg let out a wild, completely amused laugh. "Really John, why do you keep pretending like you're fighting for some divine purpose? I think we all know that this is just some petty quest for revenge because once upon a time, you couldn't save your poor little wife. What was her name, Mary? I remember that night well. I mean, I don't think you realize what a victory that was for us. We've killed other mothers before, but I mean, none of those families ever turned into hunters. Of course, you three have given us your fair share of complications, but you've done more for us than you realize, John. Killing your precious Mary might have been one of the smartest things my father ever did," she taunted.

Sam was trembling in anger, unable to do anything but glare and wish on everything he had that Meg would just drop dead where she stood. His father, however, wasn't nearly as helpless. "Shut up," John growled, quietly at first, but then louder and louder. "You shut up and don't speak another _word _about her or my family, you hear me? I am going to hunt down every last one of you sons of bitches and kill you all. You'll be sorry-"

"I bet it hurt when she died, huh John? I heard it damn near destroyed you and your boys and took _everything_ from you. It's not easy losing someone you love, is it?" She pulled a knife out of her back pocket and Sam tensed, watching her carefully. "Just imagine if, for some reason, Dean had been there with his mommy to check on his baby brother all those years ago? Do you think you could have handled losing one of your sons then, John?" She toyed with the knife and took another step closer to Sam. "Could you handle it now?"

There was silence on the other end of the line, and Sam could just imagine his father pacing back and forth, trying to get his anger in check. "What do you want?" he finally asked tightly. "The million dollar question," Meg chuckled, but all humor was gone from her voice. "Here's what I want, John: You. I want your word that you'll stop hunting down my father. Just agree, that's all I ask, and then I'll tell you where you can find Sam and we can all get on with our lives."

Sam wanted to scream at his dad, to tell him no, no deal. He couldn't throw away a lifetime of work away, especially when Sam was almost positive that Meg was going to kill him no matter what John said. There was a pause as John thought about it before he asked quietly, "And if I don't?"

Meg's eyes narrowed, and she looked down at Sam with cold, menacing eyes. "Let me put it this way, John." She swung her arm, and before Sam could even comprehend what she was doing the knife had been plunged into his side. The tape was ripped off his mouth and he gasped, taking deep, pained breaths to keep from crying out. He was afraid to look down; he could already feel blood seeping from the wound and soaking into his shirt. Meg twisted the knife, and he couldn't hold back the pained whimper that escaped him. "Here that? That's the sound of your youngest dying, bleeding out. Don't worry, I made sure not to hit anything important. But I don't know how long he can go before he loses too much blood, John. I suggest you make up your mind soon."

Sam took slow, measured breaths, trying to ride out the pain. "Dad, don't do it," he called out weakly, moaning as the knife was twisted again. "Soon, John," Meg said before hanging up. She glared down at Sam, who had broken out in a sweat and was already beginning to lose color in his face. "Oh Sam, you should have known better than that. I really hoped it wouldn't come to this, but you need to learn a lesson." She turned to the other two demons. "Go ahead and have a little fun, boys, but keep him alive. I'll be back in a little while."

She turned on her heel and began to walk toward the stairs, but Sam barely noticed. He was too preoccupied with the two other demons, who were moving towards him and showing emotion for the first time: anticipation.

* * *

><p>"So you're saying he was here?" Dean asked. He'd finally arrived at the bus station a few minutes ago, but his brother was nowhere to be seen. After asking around a little bit, he'd learned that Sam had definitely been there up until recently from the ticket seller. What was more, he'd been hanging out with some blonde chick, something he'd failed to mention on the phone. <em>Sam, you sly dog<em>.

"Yeah, he was waiting for the bus to California with that girl. I wasn't really paying attention to what he was doing, but I know he left about the time his bus arrived, so I assume he was on it," she said, looking over the counter at him with curious eyes. "And you're sure that's all you remember?" Dean pressed. There had to be something more to the story, something she had forgotten. But the ticket seller simply shook her head. "Sorry hon, that's all I know."

Dean nodded and pushed himself off the counter. "Thanks for your help," he mumbled, heading for the door. Maybe there was something outside, some clues to Sam's whereabouts. If he could find a security camera he could pull out one of his fake IDs and go back in and make the ticket seller let him look at them. There had to be _something _that he had missed-

His phone began to vibrate in his pocket and he immediately fumbled for it. "Hello?" _Please be Sam, please be Sam, please be Sam… _"Dean." Not Sam, his dad. He could work with that. Before Dean could say anything or ask any questions, John quickly began to speak. "They have Sam." Dean froze, unable to control his heart rate as it suddenly sped up. "Demons, by the sound of it, working with the thing that killed your mom. I'm already working on tracking the call and I think I've almost got it, but-" He broke off with a frustrated sigh, and Dean grew even more alarmed when he heard the distress in his father's voice. "I don't know what they've done to him. They roughed him up a bit, but it sounded like they stabbed him as well. The girl that called me said that it wasn't a lethal wound, but she also made it sound like they would have no problem leaving him there to bleed."

Dean was trying his best to swallow his panic, but it just wasn't happening. He took a few deep breaths and pinched the bridge of his nose. _Breathe, _he ordered himself. _You're no good to Sammy like this. _"Okay, okay… Have you activated the GPS on Sam's phone?" He was already running back to the Impala, ready to peel out at a moment's notice. "That's what I'm doing right now. It just needs a few more seconds… Got it!" John rattled off an address and Dean did some quick mental calculations in his head. "I'm about 200 miles away from there. I can probably be there in about two hours, but…" Dean cursed. Damn it, why had he left Sam on the side of the road?

"I'm only about 60 miles away," John said. "I'll start heading that way, and you just meet me when you get there." Dean shook his head. "Dad, you can't go in there on your own! You won't be any good to Sam if you get yourself captured too." He waited for his father to yell at him for questioning him; Dean was the good soldier, the one that did everything he was told without argument. But when it came to his brother, there was never any telling what he would do, and if getting Sam back safe and sound meant enduring one of John's lectures, he was more than ready for it.

"Dean, I can handle myself. I've got a few tricks up my sleeve, so I should be fine." Sensing that Dean was going to try to argue again, he added, "Besides, we don't know what kind of condition Sam is in. The sooner one of us can get to him and help him, the better off he'll be. I don't think either of us want to risk his life by waiting on the other." It was a low blow, using the issue Sam's safety to get Dean to back down, but a necessary one, and it worked just as he'd expected it too.

Dean huffed in frustration and rubbed his temples. "Fine," he said stiffly. "I'll see you when I get there. Oh, and Dad?" There was pause as John waited for Dean to say whatever was on his mind. "Make sure you take care of Sammy until I get there." He hung up and threw the phone down before swinging out of the parking lot, holding his foot down on the gas. He'd filled up the Impala a few miles back, so he was set to go for the drive ahead of him.

He had a brother to save.

* * *

><p>John rushed around his motel room, grabbing all the things he would need. <em>Salt, shotgun, holy water, spray paint, <em>he listed off the items in his head. The med kit in his truck was fully stocked, and he had a sick feeling he was going to need it. _But you'll get him back, and that's all that matters. _He sprinted out of his room and ran to his truck, throwing everything into the passenger seat and jamming the key into the ignition. If he hurried, he could be at the address in less than an hour. Every minute longer was precious time that he wasn't sure the he, or Sam, could afford to lose. He swerved out of the parking lot, ignoring the honking that followed him as a car nearly hit him; or rather, he nearly hit the car.

_Hang on, Sammy. I'm coming._

* * *

><p>Sam tried to curl himself into a tighter ball as the blows continued to rain down. The two demons had cut him from his chair long ago, but it didn't really make a difference for him; escape was impossible either way. He'd tried to get up and run, but whether he was weak from blood loss or the demons were just incredibly fast, he'd barely made it two feet before he'd been tackled to the ground and kicked twice in the stomach, just for good measure.<p>

Every inch of him hurt, and he could already feel bruises beginning to form everywhere on his body. Although the demons hadn't pulled out any weapons yet- and he thanked God for that, because he wasn't sure if his body could have handled that kind of punishment- they almost didn't need it. Their demonic strength made it feel like he was being pounded by a flesh covered mallet, and he knew that they were using a good deal of self control because the only bones they'd broken so far were his ribs.

The stab wound in his side was still bleeding, but at least the flow wasn't as fast and heavy as it had been… how long had it been? An hour? More? Less? It felt like an eternity, and he wanted more than anything to slip into unconsciousness and escape the pain. A harsh kick to the wound in his side nearly sent him there and he blinked away tears. _Just hold on a little bit longer…_ It had to end sometime. His dad or Dean would find him, or the demons would grow bored, or some little miracle would happen. He just had to make sure he remained awake so that he could live to see it.

He cried out as his wound was hit yet again, gasping for breath as he tried to manage the pain. _Dean could go through this. Hell, Dean could go through twice as much pain as this and still have the strength to make some smart ass comment. Be like Dean, do it for Dean, _he chanted to himself. He blinked away the black spots and glared up at the demons. "That all you got?" His voice came out stronger than he'd expected it to, something both he and the demons noticed. The shorter one's eyes turned black and he took a threatening step towards Sam, but the other one held him back. "Meg wants him alive for now," he reminded him, glaring down at Sam.

Sam attempted to smirk at them, but it came out as more of a grimace. "That's what… I thought." He tried laughing but it turned into a coughing fit, and that hurt just as much as the beating itself. He groaned as his body finally calmed down, lying like a rag doll on the cold stone floor. He could sense the demons standing over him, and he was sure they were grinning at his pain, but he couldn't bring himself to open his eyes.

"Killing you is going to be so much fun," one of them said. His body jerked as a foot came into contact with his stomach once again, and he almost missed the sound of footsteps walking up the stairs, signaling that they were going to leave him alone for a little while.

Almost.

As soon as he heard the door open and close and he was sure that he was alone, he allowed himself to uncurl a little bit. His muscles screamed in protest and he didn't make it very far before his body gave out. A few tears leaked from his eyes, but he didn't have the strength to wipe them away. There was no way he could stand, let alone walk out of there and fight off his captors. He was stuck until someone came for him.

_Just hold on, _he told himself. It was getting harder to fight off his exhaustion, but he knew he had to do it. Whether or not he could was a completely different story, but he chose not to think about that. _Just hold on, just hold on, just hold on. _He could hear Dean's voice in his head, chanting it with him. _Just hold on, just hold on, come on Sammy, hold on._ He had to fight it and stay awake for just a little while longer. He had to…

Another wave of pain washed over his body and he bit his lip as hard as he could, drawing blood. It hurt so bad, and he needed something to take the pain or way, or rather someone. He needed someone who could make him feel better, and act like a complete mother hen even though he would deny that he ever did, and make jokes as many times as it took to make Sam smile as he healed. He needed the one person that he could always count on, and who would lay down his life for him no matter how much Sam protested. He needed his big brother.

He needed Dean.

* * *

><p>"Come on, baby, come on," Dean urged his car and he roared down the narrow stretch of road. He was a half hour away, tops, but it could have been a million miles and still felt the same to him. He eased his foot down on the gas, watching the little needle on the speedometer rise out of the corner of his eye. He wasn't sure how much faster the Impala could get, but he was going to push her to her limits. The car had never let him and Sam, or their dad for that matter, down, and he'd be damned if he let this be the first. He eased his foot down a little more, gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles.<p>

_Hang on, Sammy, I'm coming._

* * *

><p>John stepped back and admired his handiwork, wiping black stained hands on his pants. They had Sam in a little two story farmhouse out in the middle of nowhere, with a white picket fence and everything. <em>Of all the places<em>. John shook in head in wonder. _But then again, it's somewhere where people can't hear the screaming, _he thought darkly. He quickly shook off the thought, chastising himself. He was a Winchester, and he didn't have time for negatives.

He'd just finished spraying a Devil's Trap on the ceiling, something he'd learned from a book an old friend had lent him a while back. When he'd arrived, there had been no sign of life on either floor; he'd checked. But he'd heard voices coming from the basement and without a second thought he'd set to the Devil's Trap. There was salt lining every window and door, so nothing was getting in or out of the house without his say so. Now he just needed the demons to come upstairs so that he could trap them and…

He heard a muffled cry from the basement and it was all he could not to charge down there, guns blazing. He'd know Sam's voice anywhere, and hearing the pain in his baby's voice was nearly unbearable. He thought back to Meg's words: _"Do you think you could have handled losing one of your sons then, John? Could you handle it now?" _He tightened his grip on his shotgun and flask of holy water. When he got his hands on those sons of bitches they would learn what Hell was _really _like.

He heard the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs and quickly ducked out of the room, watching as two men emerged from a door that he assumed led to the basement. The first one, a red haired man, looked around and sniffed, frowning. "Do you smell that?" The other one nodded, furrowing his brow as the two stepped into the kitchen. "It's like paint or something." They looked around the room, and John couldn't help but smirk at the confusion on their faces. _Just a few more steps and… there. _

"Maybe we should call Meg and see what she says to-" The other man, shorter and brunette, stopped as if he had suddenly run into a wall. "What the-" John chose to make his appearance at that moment and took a step into the room, holding a little book. Two pairs of eyes snapped to him, then to the ceiling as understanding dawned on them. The ginger looked over at him and sneered. "You must be John Winchester, huh? Your son's as good as dead, you know. Meg will be back any minute now, and when she sees what's happening she'll make you _real _sorry for coming here."

John was flipping through his book, looking for a certain page, and glanced up at the two demons for a split second. "I'll deal with her when I need to. For now, I'd worry about yourselves." And with that, he began to chant the exorcism.

"Regna Terrae, cantate deo, psallite domino…" The demons flinched and began to gasp, obviously straining to hold onto their hosts' bodies. "You'll never be able to save him, you know!" one of the gasped out. John ignored them and continued to read. "Qui vehitur per calus caelos antiquos!" The demons continued to gasp and pant, shouting at him as he continued to read.

"No matter what you do, it won't be enough!" the other shouted. Their eyes were full on black now, but John just continued to ignore them and read. "You can't stop this, Winchester. It's bigger than you and your unhealthy little need for revenge," he said. "Timendus est dues e sancto suo…" John read as he entered the second part of the incantation. The demons were just barely holding on now, and it wouldn't be much longer before he'd sent them back to Hell.

"He's as good as dead!" the other shouted, just before a terrible scream came from him, accompanied by a thick cloud of black smoke that quickly disappeared. The body dropped bonelessly to the ground, but the other demon continued to fight. "You can't protect him forever, Winchester," he ground out. "Ipse potentiam datet robur…"

"You will fail, John Winchester, mark my words. You're son will die here, and there's nothing you can do to stop it!" John continued to ignore him. The end of the incantation was already here; the demon was out of time. "Gloria Patri," John murmured, watching in satisfaction as a cloud of smoke rose from the mouth of the demon and shot out through the ceiling. "That's what you get for messing with my family."

He didn't even bother to check and see if the two men who were now lying on the floor were even alive; instead he bolted for the door to the basement, taking the steps two at a time. "Sam!" he called! He didn't worry about being quiet, since the two demons he'd just exorcised had mentioned that the girl, Meg, wasn't in the house. "Sammy?"

The room wasn't very well lit, but his vision was just good enough to make out the body curled up on the floor, silent and unmoving. "No," he whispered, coming to a halt at the bottom of the stairs. A rush of anger coursed through him and suddenly he was running towards his boy, dropping to his knees and checking frantically for a pulse. "Sammy!"

He sighed in relief when he felt a weak but steady beat beneath his fingers. "Oh god, Sam... What did they do to you, son?" Up close, the view wasn't pretty. Bruises adorned nearly every visible inch of his son, and there was a shallow pool of blood around him from the knife wound that John could see in his side. John gently pulled up Sam's shirt to assess the condition of his stomach, wincing when he saw the deep bruising. He gently placed his hand on the skin, feeling for broken ribs- there were several, he realized in dismay- and nearly jumped out of his skin when Sam's eyes snapped open and he gasped in pain.

"Sam!" John quickly moved so that he could see Sam's face as his head turned weakly. "D-dad?" Sam asked, his voice barely a whisper. "Yeah son, it's me. How are you feeling?" He could hear how shallow Sam's breathing was, and he had a sneaking suspicion that Sam had punctured one of his lungs. "Hurts," Sam murmured, squeezing his eyes shut as another wave of pain hit him.

John's heart broke when he saw the tears streaming from his baby's eyes, even though they were closed. "Shhh, son, it's alright. We'll get you all patched up and good as new, okay? Just hold on for a little bit longer, can you do that for me?" Sam's eyes were half closed and John could tell that he was just hanging on, but he looked around the room as if he was searching for something or someone. "Dean?"

John's heart broke all over again as he realized that Sam was looking for his older brother, the one person that always managed to comfort him when he was in any kind of pain. "He'll be here soon, Sam, I promise. You have to stay awake so that you can see him, okay? He's been so worried, Sam. Sam?" he called, noticing that the boy's eyes were beginning to flutter shut. "Sam, stay awake, okay? Just a little bit longer, I know you can do it."

Sam _had _to do it. John had already lost Mary to these people; he wouldn't lose his youngest son, too. Besides, he'd made a promise to Dean to take care of Sam until he got there, and he'd be damned if he broke his promise after everything that had happened. He grabbed Sam's hand, squeezing it gently. "I'm going to get the first aid kit so that I can patch you up, okay? I'll just be gone for a minute." He moved to stand up, but Sam tightened his grip and held him in place.

"Dad," Sam whispered, and John could tell he was struggling to stay awake. "Tell Dean… T-tell Dean I'm s-sorry," he whispered, his voice fading as his eyes slid shut. John tightened his grip on Sam's hand and brushed the boy's bangs out of his eyes, patting his face gently. "No Sam, no apologies. And anyway, whatever you have to say to him you can say when he gets here, son." He continued patting his face, waiting for his eyes to open.

They didn't.

John felt a cold panic in his chest and grabbed his son's shoulders, shaking them gently. "Sam? Come on, boy, you can't give up on me now. Sam? Come on, you've fought to long and hard to just give up when it's finally over. Don't do this son, your brother needs you. Sam?" But Sam never showed any signs of opening his eyes. In fact, he seemed unnaturally still…

"SAM!"

* * *

><p><strong>What can I say, I like cliffhangers. :) I'll work on getting the next, and possibly last, part up soon. Remember, reviews speed the process up. :)<strong>


	3. Safety

**Um. Oops? I really can't give any explanation for not updating in so long, except for the fact that I was taking online courses and didn't finish my summer assignments until yesterday. Which is bad because school starts in two days. BUT that also motivated me to update, because I needed to get this done before that. So… sorry for the long wait. Thank you for all the reviews on the last chapter!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or anything affiliated.**

* * *

><p>The screeching of tires filled the air as Dean swerved suddenly on the road, barreling through the white gate that led to a little country house. His father's truck was already parked outside, and that gave Dean hope; if anyone could take care of Sammy as good as him, it was their dad. He leapt from the Impala, snagging the med kit from the back seat before sprinting towards the house.<p>

He kicked the door in, glancing down briefly as little grains of salt scattered across the poor. Dean didn't bother to fix the line, walking cautiously towards the kitchen as he noticed the door that stood ajar. He could his father's voice carrying up from the basement as he got closer, and he smiled when he realized that he was talking to Sam. _Atta boy, Sammy, I knew you'd pull through all right,_ he grinned. Then John's voice raised, and Dean heard newfound panic. "Sam? Come on, you've fought to long and hard to just give up when it's finally over. Don't do this son, your brother needs you. Sam?"

Dean ran to the door, stepping onto the top step and taking the scene in in an instant. His father, kneeling over a limp figure on the floor, holding his face in his hands. The figure wasn't even moving, and from where Dean was standing he couldn't even tell if the guy was breathing. There was a dark circle around him that Dean recognized as blood, and Dean felt his heart skip a few beats. He knew who the figure was without even having to look.

"SAM!"

He leapt down the stairs and ran to his brother's side, sliding to his knees. He looked at the body in front of him, shuddering at how pale Sam looked beneath all the cuts and bruises. Fingers fumbled for a pulse on his neck, and he nearly started crying when he found a nearly nonexistent one. "Dad, we need to get him out of here _now._"

John was one step ahead of him, reaching out and gently pulling his youngest into his arms, holding him bridal style as he staggered to his feet. "Dean, I need you to go get your car ready so that I can put him into the backseat. We're going to have to risk a hospital this time, I don't think I can fix all of his injuries." Dean nodded and ran for the stairs as John walked as quickly as he could after him. Sam was a skinny kid, but he was also tall, which made carrying him difficult.

John rushed up the stairs, risking a glance down at Sam's face when he reached the top step. His face was twisted in agony, and the eldest Winchester could only imagine the pain he was in. He half walked, half jogged to the door, trying his best not to jostle Sam. Dean met him at the door, grabbing Sam's limp hand and jogging backwards so that he could see his baby brother's face. "Come on, Sammy, we're gonna get you to a hospital and everything's going to be alright, okay?"

Without taking his eyes off of Sam, Dean spoke to his father. "Didn't you say there was a girl?" he asked. John nodded, glancing around. "Yeah, she was gone when I got here. Something tells me that if she's around, she won't try anything." Dean nodded as they stopped in front of the Impala and carefully loaded Sam inside. He really wasn't liking the shade of white his brother's face was turning…

Dean ran to the driver's seat of the Impala, only pausing when he noticed John started towards his own truck. He felt a flash of anger and hardened his gaze, eyes boring into the back of his father's head. "Dad, I swear to god that if you leave him now…" He watched as the man's footsteps slowed and he turned around, his expression unreadable to Dean. "Get your brother to the hospital, Dean. I'll be right behind you the entire time."

That was all Dean needed to hear, and without taking another second- time was too precious at that point- he pulled the car into gear and barreled for the gate, swinging out onto the road and taking off in the direction of the hospital. He risked a glance at his rearview mirror, forcing himself to breathe. _You've got him, you'll get him to the hospital, and everything will be fine, _he assured himself, keeping careful control of the steering wheel. "Hold on, Sammy, I've got you," he murmured, wandering if there was any part of his brother that could even him. Just the idea was enough for Dean, and he continued to talk to Sam as the Impala roared on.

"I've got you, Sammy."

* * *

><p>They hadn't ever been more than fifteen minutes away from the hospital to begin with, and with Dean's driving they made it there in ten. True to his word, John stayed behind his sons the entire time, although Dean never once checked; he had bigger, more important things to worry about than that at the moment. He pulled into the parking lot of the hospital, heading straight for the emergency room entrance. "We made it, Sam, we made it," he said aloud. He was met with silence, and then a cough. And then another cough. Dean froze at the sound, looking at the rearview mirror to make sure that Sam was okay. His heart nearly stopped at what he saw.<p>

Sam, lying in the back seat.

Sam, with all of his injuries, pale and sweating, cheeks flushed with what Dean could only assume was a fever, probably brought on by infection.

Sam, coughing up blood.

"Damn it!" Dean cursed, feeling whatever sense of calm he'd managed to maintain slip away. There was no doubt in his mind that one of the kid's broken ribs had punctured his lungs now. "Hang on, Sammy, we're here, we're here." He heard another cough, followed immediately by the sounds of extremely labored breathing. "Come on, man, don't give up on me now." Sam's breathing grew even heavier in response, an awful, wet sounding kind of breathing that the elder Winchester didn't like one bit. And then… nothing.

_Nothing? _

Dean slammed on the breaks in front of the entrance, turning around in his seat and looking at Sam, whose lips were coated in blood, not breathing. _Not breathing, _Dean repeated to himself, feeling his breath hitch in his chest. _No, _he thought to himself, throwing himself for the door and lunging out of the car towards his brother. "No no no no no no, Sammy, you are _not _allowed to do this!" he yelled, grabbing Sam's face in his hands and shaking him gently. "Come on, Sammy, don't you dare do this!"

But Sam remained unresponsive to his brother's pleas and with no options left but to take matters into his own hands, Dean pulled Sam from the car and cradled him in his arms, trying not to stagger under the weight. "Help!" Dean yelled, carrying him towards the doors. "I need some help out here! Help!"

He blinked at looked down at Sam's face, forcing himself not to freeze when he saw the blue tint that was now coloring Sam's lips. "Damn it, Sammy, no," he whispered. Someone placed a hand on his shoulder and he managed to tear his eyes off of his brother just in time for someone to try to take him out of Dean's arms. Dean instinctively tightened his hold as several doctors or paramedics or whoever the hell they were surrounded the two. "Son, you have to let us help him," one of the men said with a tone that was gentle but left no room for argument. . The young man hesitated for another moment before nodding, letting the medical team take over.

* * *

><p>"Dean."<p>

He could feel John's eyes on him as he paced back and forth across the waiting room, but if he heard his father he showed no sign of it. His mind was on Sam and keeping his feet moving at a steady pace.

"Dean."

Left, right, left, right, left-

"_Dean."_

"What?" he finally snapped, stopping and turning to face John. The man frowned at his son's tone, then sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Running holes in the floor isn't going to do him any good, you know." Dean clenched his fists. "Yeah, well neither has anything else I've done up until now," he muttered. There was a pause as his father stood up and put a hand on Dean's shoulder. "You got him to the hospital. What else could either of us have done?"

_I could have not let him run off on his own! _Dean wanted to scream. _You could have called us and warned us, or better yet not run off in the first place!_ But he remained silent. "He'll be fine, Dean. He's gone through worse, and he's stubborn as hell; he won't let some demon take him out, not after everything he's been through." Dean stared at his father for a moment before he started pacing again. "Like you would know," he muttered under his breath.

"Family of Sam Daniels?" If he'd been sitting, Dean would have shot out of his chair and bombarded the doctor with questions. As it was, the doctor was standing right next to him and John spoke before he could get the words out of his mouth. "How is he?" The doctor seemed to appraise them for a moment, but he seemed to sense Dean's growing restlessness because he cleared his throat and looked down at a clipboard he was holding.

"Things were a little touch and go for a while, but we finally managed to get him stabilized. He had two broken ribs, one of which punctured his left lung, which was what caused him to cough up blood and subsequently lose the ability to take in oxygen. The wound to his abdomen was quite deep, and he lost a lot of blood, but we gave him a transfusion and stitched it up, and from what we can tell there was no other internal injuries. He had a minor concussion, and he's probably going to be pretty sore for a while, but he's breathing on his own and reactive to stimuli and he's expected to make a full recovery."

Dean couldn't remember the last time his shoulders had felt so light, and the relief he was felt was nearly palpable. "So he's going to be okay?" The doctor nodded, smiling for the first time. "Yes. We're going to need to keep him for a few days, just to monitor the more severe of his injuries to make sure there are no complications, but assuming that goes well he can be out of here within the week."

Dean's grin widened and he glanced over at John, who had a small, relieved smile. "Can we see him?" The doctor nodded quickly, glancing down at his clipboard again. "Certainly, I'll have a nurse take you right now. He'll probably still be under because of the drugs we had to give him, but hopefully he'll come to within the next hour or so. I'll go get someone to take you to him." The doctor moved off, leaving John and Dean standing alone in the waiting room again.

There was a moment of silence, and then Dean looked at his father. "So, uh, Dad. You said that one of the demons, the one that took Sam, she wasn't there when you got there?" Now that they knew Sam was going to be okay, he felt like they could turn to the other matters at hand. He thought he saw something flicker in John's eyes, but it was gone so quickly that he couldn't be sure that it had ever been there in the first place. "That's right. There were two when I got there, but the one I talked to on the phone was a girl." Dean nodded slowly. "Well, as soon as Sam is up and running we can all go after her. I'm sure he'll be hungry for a little revenge," he grinned.

John smirked at that. If Sam was anything like he'd been before he left for Stanford- and John was positive he was- he wouldn't take too kindly to the fact that he'd let a demon get the jump on him. He sobered when he remembered that it hadn't been an accident that that demon had gotten to Sam, and that she was still out there. Someone obviously wanted them stopped, and they'd just shown how far they'd go to do it.

A nurse walked up, and after confirming that they were the family of Sam Daniels, informed them that she would show them to Sam's room. Dean moved to follow her, stopping when his father didn't follow. "Dad?" John blinked a few times and met his son's eyes. "Sorry, just tired. Listen, I think I'm gonna get some caffeine from the cafeteria first. Sam won't be awake for a little while anyway, so why don't you just go on ahead?"

He could tell by the way Dean's shoulders suddenly tensed and his frame went rigid that he was suspicious, but the boy didn't let him down when he nodded tightly. "Sure, Dad," he said quietly. "See you around." He turned and followed the nurse down the hall to Sam's room, not even bothering to look back to watch his dad walk in the direction of the hospital's cafeteria. He was pretty sure John wasn't going that way anyway.

Which was why when Sam's eyes began to flutter open an hour later, Dean wasn't surprised that John had never made it to the room.

* * *

><p>"Man, I never thought I'd say this but I've missed our crappy little motel rooms." Dean raised his eyebrows and looked over at his little brother curiously. "Oh, is that so?" Sam dropped his now packed duffel bag onto one of the beds, nodding. "Yeah. I mean, this isn't exactly the royal palace, but <em>damn <em>I hate hospitals. Give me chipped paint and asbestos any day, man." Dean laughed, shaking his head. "Well Sam, you wouldn't have had to go to the hospital in the first place if you hadn't let some chick kick your ass."

Sam narrowed his eyes and Dean just barely managed to dodge the wayward pillow that was launched his way. "She was possessed, man. That _so _doesn't count." He'd been let out of the hospital the day before, and other than the orders to rest and take it easy for the next few days, he was good to go. Other than a hastily scrawled note that Dean had found on the windshield of the Impala saying that he was going to take care of Meg and to call him if they needed anything, there had been no word from John since he'd disappeared from the hospital that day.

For some reason, Sam had the feeling they wouldn't be hearing from him for a while.

"Yeah, sure thing Sammy, but I'm just saying. You're _never _going to land a chick if you keep playing the role of damsel in distress. How many times have I rescued you now, huh?" Sam rolled his eyes at his brother's antics. "Whatever man." But he was smiling, and even though it didn't quite reach his eyes the way Dean remembered it doing, Sam's smiles were so far and few in between that Dean couldn't help but smile back.

"Well," Dean said, picking up his own duffel and slinging it over his shoulder, "I know you think this humble abode is home sweet home, but it's still really crappy, and I don't like the looks that manager was giving me when I checked in." Sam smirked at him and stood up, following Dean to the door. "Yeah, sure, just let me use the bathroom and we can go."

Dean nodded and mumbled something that sounded like an impatient hurry up as Sam shut the bathroom door behind him. As he was washing his hands he caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror and cringed. Other than his stiff, sore movements, the only telltale sign that anything had ever happened to him were the bruises on his face, but they were a sore reminder. His eye was still slightly black and swollen, and there was still a light bruise on his cheek. It certainly wasn't a pretty sight, but it could have been so, so much worse.

A sharp rap on the door brought his mind back to reality and he jumped. "Sam! Did you fall in or something? Come on!" Dean stepped back as the door opened and Sam appeared. "Let's get this show on the road, man." Sam rolled his eyes at his impatience and picked up his back, pausing in the doorway and looking back at Dean. "Hey, Dean, uh- I just wanted to, uh, thank you for, you know… coming back for me," he said, stumbling over the thank you. Dean stopped where he was, staring at him for a moment before giving him a small smile. "Hey man," he said, holding his arms in front of him as if to hold Sam off. "No chick flick moments."

Sam laughed before he could stop himself, shaking his head. "Yeah, whatever man." He turned and headed for the Impala, Dean following and closing the door behind.

Dean watched as his brother folded his long legs into the car, holding his side and holding back a grimace. The older brother threw his bag into the truck and let it close, taking his time to walk around to the driver's side. Sam was already reading a newspaper, probably looking for their next gig. Dean stopped at the door, letting his hand rest on the handle. "You're welcome, Sammy," he whispered, pulling the door open and sliding in.

The only sound for the next hundred miles was the roar of the engine and the greatest hits of Def Leppard, and with it came the normalcy that Dean hadn't realized he'd missed from the past week and half. Sam was still recovering, their dad was missing yet again, and they were no closer to finding the demon that had killed their mom than before, but Sam was safe, and they were together again.

And Dean wouldn't have it any other way.

From the shadows a figure watched with cold, calculating eyes. She wasn't angry anymore, at least not the blind fury she felt upon learning that the Winchesters had escaped. No, she wasn't angry anymore; Meg would simply watch and wait for the opportunity to strike again, and the next time she would not fail. After all, plans were made to be changed. And there was one thing she could be sure of.

All roads led to the destruction of the Winchesters.

* * *

><p><strong>And it's done! Next time I start a story, I'm going to finish it before I start posting so that I don't have to make people wait for so long. Again, I'm so sorry for the wait, and thank you all for your continued support. Please review!<strong>


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